More Than She Aksed For

Hermione lay awake in bed, playing the events of her interview with Snape over and over again in her head. It had been three nights since her confrontation with the potions professor, and she was yet to have a decent night's sleep. She just couldn't get his words out of her head: "How very Gryffindor of you." What had he meant by that? Was it a compliment to her bravery, a concession to the valor of his rival house? Or was it an insult at her attempt to "play the hero," as Snape likely saw it? Hermione wasn't sure, but she knew that saving those muggles had been the right thing to do, whether it was the "Gryffindor" thing or not. She wanted to do it again. Helping those muggles had made her feel useful. For all of Hermione's knowledge of books and spells, she had always felt a bit ineffective. No one ever turned to her in a crisis: she was always stuck in the library doing research. Actually using some of her knowledge to physically help someone had been rewarding beyond her wildest dreams. She let a deep sigh out into the night. There was no way she could ever enjoy that feeling again, at least not until she was of age and could join the Order. Until then she was stuck in the castle. Unless....

Hermione dismissed the idea almost as soon as it had popped into her head. It could never happen, it would never work, not in a million years. Although it would be good, it would be great, if she could do it....

Why couldn't she? When had she ever let something like the impossible stop her before? She could at least try. She'd have to make a hell of a case for it, but she could try. Hermione crept out of her bed and grabbed some parchment, a quill, and a few books from the massive pile on the floor. She had a lot of work to do if she was ever going to get this off the ground...

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Two weeks late Hermione was relaxing in the Prefect bathroom, trying to quell the aggressive butterflies in her stomach. She had spent the past two weeks working doubly hard, spending every spare moment on this idea. In addition to her regular mounds of class work she had been busy perfecting several different types of healing spells and memory charms, as well as learning how to brew about a dozen different potions, the hardest of which was the ortis subsisto portion, a sort of "morning-after" concoction. She had managed to finish it all, however, and was now ready to talk to Snape. After her bath, of course.

Hermione took advantage of the warm, comforting bath, allowing her body to relax and her mind to organize itself. She was ready to talk to Snape again, despite her mixed feelings on the man. He had been completely ignoring her for two solid weeks. It actually wasn't that bad; Hermione found herself much more capable of understanding the complex instructions for the potions they'd been brewing now that she knew that Snape wasn't hovering over her shoulder, waiting to criticize her work. She knew he wouldn't like her idea, probably would try and get her expelled for even proposing it, but she was confident in her ability to convince him. She had sensed some remorse, however veiled, when he talked about "playing the part" of a Death Eater, and though he would never admit it he would probably be glad to have her along as a sort of clean-up crew. Hermione glanced around the bathroom, hoping it wouldn't be the last time she'd ever see it. She took a deep breath, gave herself one last pep talk, and climbed out of the tub. As she wrapped a towel around herself she went over her game plan one last time. Walk into the office, be polite...

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The door to Snape's office was closed. Somehow, in all the times she had practiced this exchange in her head, she had never imagined the door closed, it had always been slightly ajar--just enough so she could peek in and make sure Snape wasn't in the middle of a paper when she came in. Now she would have to knock, and Hermione was fairly sure that Snape never answered knocks.

Nevertheless she lifted up her hand and knocked hard at the door, willing her knuckles to sound like those of another professor or some other important person. She waited in silence, but got no answer. She knocked again, three hard, purposeful raps, and this time called out, "Professor Snape?" She knew the sound of her voice was not likely to help, but she had to talk to Snape tonight, which started with getting him to open the door. She waited for three solid minutes outside his door, growing angrier by the minute. What if she had an important question that she needed answered before class the next day? What if there had been some sort of emergency, and she needed his help? Frustrated with his unresponsiveness she grabbed the doorknob, shaking it violently to send the professor a message. To her great surprise the knob turned, and she found herself looking into Snape's empty office. Empty? How could he not be working in his office? He had a well-deserved reputation for burning the midnight oil, and here it was only seven o'clock.

Hermione's eyes turned towards the back door of the office. She knew she shouldn't even try to go through. She knew that Snape would stop at nothing to try and punish her as harshly as possible if she did, but she had to talk to him tonight. She had no idea how frequently he participated in these Death Eater nights out, but she couldn't stand the thought of him going on another on without her. She walked to the backdoor and found it too, miraculously, unlocked. "Lady Luck must be on my side tonight," she muttered as she stepped into the long stone corridor. It looked exactly the same as it had the last night she'd been here, but now she barely noticed the details she had so studiously observed two weeks ago. Despite her best attempts to prepare for this moment, Hermione was a nervous wreck. Her hands were shaking by the time she reached the large, impressive door. It was all she could do to stand still and take a few deep breathes. Finally she lifted up the antique knocker that had materialized upon her arrival, a coiled silver snake, and pounded three steady beats. They resonated throughout the passageway. She waited a moment, half-hoping he would ignore her or perhaps not even be in the castle, and then the door began to open.

"Albus, you know I haven't had time," began the weary voice behind the door. "I'll brew the Wolfsbane potion tonight, and bring in up to your office before..." Snape's words dropped off as the door opened wide enough for him to see that it was not Albus Dumbledore who had knocked but a rather nervous looking Hermione Granger. He took half a step backwards, not sure what to do in such an unprecedented situation, and Hermione saw her chance. She took a giant step past him, catapulting herself into his room, then sort of hopped out of his reach, as she half expected him to grab her by the scruff of her neck and toss her out. Snape turned to face her, a look of sheer shock on his face.

"What are you doing here?" he bellowed. "Get out!"

"Professor," began Hermione, rather speedily, "we need to talk again." Before he could reply she added, "I suggest you shut the door, this is another one of those things that needs to be discussed in private quarters."

"Miss Granger, I do not know what you are talking about, now get out!" was the retort.

"I want to help the people you torture for Voldemort!" she cried desperately. She didn't care who heard; more than anything she did not want to be kicked out of this room.

At the sound of Voldemort's name Snape slammed the door shut, though to Hermione it looked more like a jump of fright than a security measure. He recovered quickly and stared Hermione straight in the eye. "I don't know what silly little idea you have gotten into your head, Miss Granger, but the blind heroism present in it combined with its blind stupidity lead me to believe it's a product of your dear friends Messrs Potter and Weasley."

"No Professor!" Hermione countered forcefully. "I haven't even told Harry and Ron about this whole thing. I've thought this up all on my own, and it has nothing to do with heroism. I just want to do my bit to help! I can follow you to your meeting spots with the Death Eaters, hide until you're finished, then heal the victims. It's simple!"

"No, Miss Granger, it's not simple, nor is it ever going to happen. First off, you are far too inexperienced to track a group of Death Eaters without getting detected, which would of course result in death."

"But Sir, I'll be careful, and I can wear an invisibility cloak..."

"It you think and invisibility cloak will protect you from a group of seasoned Death Eaters then you know far less than I thought. Second on my long list of objections, to do those muggles any good you'd need a whole host of spells and potions at your disposal: spells that are too advanced for a student and potions that I don't have time to brew."

"But Professor!" Neither had moved an inch, and they glaring daggers at each other. "I've spent the past two weeks learning all sorts of healing spells, and I've studied up on how to brew all sorts of potions, even the ortis subsisto potion. With access to your supplies I could brew up bottles at a time, they all keep for weeks."

"Thirdly, Miss Granger," Snape said loudly, "it is far too dangerous for an underage witch. You would be in great danger of being kidnapped, and while most of your professors would be relieved, there is a good chance you would be used as bait for Potter. We both know that's one strategy the Dark Lord has mastered." Snape's mouth turned up into a small grin as he said this. Hermione knew he was talking about Sirius, and she wanted to strangle him. She kept her cool, however: this plan was more important. After all, Sirius was dead and there was nothing she could do about that. These muggles still had a chance of living, of being happy, if someone would help them.

Pleased at the suppressed rage showing on Hermione's face, Snape decided he had had enough fun for one night. "And now, Miss Granger, you've overstayed your welcome. You can forget your plan and forget our conversation of two weeks ago." They were still standing next to the door; Snape pulled it open and made a violent gesture that could only have one meaning. As Hermione walked past him, however, she made it clear that she had not been defeated.

"You haven't heard the last of this plan, Sir," she spat. "I will help those poor muggles, even if I have to do it without your help."